People Don't Marry Their First Love
by Dream-Like-State
Summary: Written for the First Love Challenge. Hermione is angry. Seething. Sick of the way she always comes second to Quidditch. Only when her boss taunts her does she snap. Will Oliver be able to keep her? Oliver Wood/Hermione Granger. Enjoy.


**Okay, so there was this challenge and I jumped at the chance. It didn't exactly turn out as i'd hoped, but here it is. xD**

Hermione Granger sighed unhappily as she sat down in the cafeteria at St. Mungo's. She had been trying all day not to cry, but was finding it extremely difficult. She sipped her coffee and sniffled slightly, letting out another sigh.

"What's wrong, Granger?" How she despised that voice. The voice of her boss, Delia Vittan. "Tell me, girl, so you can get on with your work without so many bloody whiney sighs." She demanded rudely.

Hermione forced down her retort and kept her glare on the coffee mug in front of her. "Nothing. I'm fine." She managed through clenched teeth. In truth, Delia Vittan should be shot. With a muggle gun – twice, suffering a fair bit of pain, before somebody put an end to the world's suffering by avada-ing her.

"Look, Granger, I'm not stupid," This could be argued very easily. "I can see that you're upset, and it's affecting your work." Her words were firm and Hermione found that they only annoyed her so much because it was _her_ voice that said them. The fat idiot she called a boss let out a laugh. "Don't tell me your _dear_ boyfriend has broken up with you?" She mocked, amusement swimming in her eyes.

Hermione's head snapped up to glare at the older woman, her eyes smouldering with hatred. "What about it?" Her eyes narrowed.

Vittan let out a snort of laughter. "Saw that coming. Saw it coming from a mile off." She laughed cynically. Hermione felt like giving her what was now dubbed as 'the Malfoy treatment' and socking her in the nose. "Is it because he hasn't proposed yet?"

She ground her teeth and said nothing, instead standing abruptly from her seat and dumping her coffee in the trash – no, not on Delia's head. Unfortunately. "What's it to you?" She sneered.

Delia seemed taken aback slightly, but her mocking only increased. "It just doesn't surprise me that Oliver Wood, of all people hasn't proposed to you." She snorted. "After all, the saying does go; _people don't marry their first love_, right? Something has to get in the way." Hermione's fists clenched as she attempted to keep the tears down. "Pity for you, the thing that gets in the way in this case is Quidditch... and the girls that come with it."

Hermione was furious. That had hit a nerve. Why? Because it was the truth. Oliver Wood, professional Quidditch Player, hadn't proposed to his long time girlfriend, Hermione Granger, because his life didn't really revolve around anything else other than his job – and, as mentioned oh so kindly by Delia, the girls that come with it.

In fact, it had been the reason they had argued and broken up that very morning. Hermione had become paranoid. Oliver had been spending too much time away from her. And she was getting suspicious. So, naturally, Hermione being Hermione, she confronted him and they argued for a good two hours, before she had finally announced it to be over.

The disgusting woman looked Hermione up and down, a sneer pulling at her lips. "Well, you wouldn't have stood a chance. All that _first love_ rubbish is just nonsense. Why would he marry _you_ when his lovely little fan girls are probably more ravishingly beautiful?" The words rang in Hermione's head, setting off the tear glands.

"Stop!" Hermione suddenly shouted as the woman was about to continue. "Shut your fucking _fat trap_, you BITCH!" She screamed, all heads in the cafeteria turning to watch this scene unfold. "You haven't got a single _clue_ what you're talking about! As if YOU, of ALL people would KNOW anything about LOVE!" She screeched, the tears pouring down her cheeks. "You're just a stupid bitch who likes to torture the people you're jealous of, so just GO. FUCK. YOURSELF!" With that, she stormed off, heading straight for the locker room.

She threw off her white doctor's coat angrily and shoved it into her locker, slamming the door on it. Grabbing her bag, she briskly walked out to reception, told Yvonne she was leaving and left with a pop outside, with one destination in mind. Ginny Potter's place.

"Ginny!" She yelled, now beginning to sob. "GINNY!"

"Hermione?" She called, confused as she stood at the kitchen door. "What's wrong?" She rushed over to her friend and engulfed her in a hug. "Shh, come here." She soothed, bringing Hermione over to the kitchen table and lowering her into a seat. "Now, tell me, what's happened?"

Hermione inhaled a deep breath, her heart panging painfully as she prepared to tell Ginny the story. "Oliver and I... we broke up." She squeaked. Ginny gasped. "It was just so – so... ARGH! I was just – we argued. I couldn't help myself – NO. I have to be – be so STUPID!" She sobbed on to Ginny's shoulder.

"Oh, Hermione!" Ginny said sympathetically.

"And then Vittan comes in – and she rubs it in my face and I just LOST it at her... in front of everyone... and-and I'm such an IDIOT!" The brunette wailed. She was truly upset – no, wait, distraught!

"Hush, Hermione. You're not an idiot. Now, calm down, and tell me what it's about." Ginny's voice was the epitome of calm. "I'll make us some tea while you calm yourself... Or maybe you'd prefer something a little stronger." Hermione didn't have time to respond, before Ginny got up and pulled out a bottle of fire whiskey.

The redhead poured some in a coffee mug – a generous helping – and drank half of it herself before handing it over to her hysterical friend, who downed it quickly.

She gulped back the burning sensation in her throat and stared at Ginny, her eyes glassy. "Well, it's been getting to me lately. All of his being away so much... and we've been together since my fourth year – which is an entire five years, Gin!" Ginny nodded understandingly. "And then Pavarti comes to work, and she's so happy that Seamus proposed! And they've only been together for two years! _Two years_! And so this morning, when I woke up and found him passed out on the couch, I just couldn't take it anymore." She explained.

"I woke him up and demanded to know where he'd been... He told me, he was 'out'. 'Just out'. I got so mad. How am I supposed to know what that means? He could have been 'just out' anywhere, with any _girl_!" She exclaimed. "I guess I'm just being paranoid... But Ginny, I don't want to lose him! And I think I have..." She summed up.

"Oh, Mia, it's okay." Ginny comforted, putting an arm around her.

"What if he's not attracted to me anymore?" She cried. "What if he wants fresh meat? Vittan said that _nobody marries their first love_." She mocked. "Maybe she was right and – and I'm no competition for his quidditch and _the girls that come with it_!"

"It's alright, Hermione. Shh." She soothed again, looking outraged at Vittan's comments. "Don't take any notice of what that foul, ghastly beast of a woman says to you. She's got no right to say them." Ginny seethed. "Besides, I married Harry, didn't I?" She had a point.

"Yes, I know." Hermione replied gloomily. "But why can't I marry _my_ first love, too?"

Ginny frowned. "Darling, of course you can marry your first love! Anyone can! It just depends on how much he loves you and you love him." Such wisdom.

"What do I do about it?" Hermione croaked hopelessly.

Ginny squeezed her friend's shoulders once more before standing up. "You prove her wrong. You rekindle what you and Oliver have. And if he doesn't propose, you do it _for_ him." Ginny said determinedly, her brown eyes alight. "C'mon, let's go find you something to wear."

"But he's got training all day... and probably won't come home tonight." She sniffled.

"So, we go to him. And we'll do it while he's at training, when he's sober... and so we can make him jealous as all his colleagues stare at you." There was an evil glint to Ginny Potter's eyes as she said this, taking Hermione's hand and heading up the stairs.

Two hours later, Hermione was looking at herself strangely in the mirror. "I don't look anything like myself." She muttered. "I don't know if he'll like it." She said loudly. The unrecognisable Hermione was wearing a short red dress, trimmed with black lace, which came up mid-thigh. It was low cut, hanging on thin straps, which crisscrossed over her back. She wore matching black high heels and her hair was pulled back into a messy up-do, stray strands of hair framing her made-up face.

Ginny sighed. "It's fine. Just trust me on this. You may not look like yourself, but honey, you look amazing and of he loves you, he'll see through it. Now, go. Before I drag you there by the hair." She gave the brunette a quick squeeze in reassurance before she popped away seconds later.

Another few seconds later found Hermione appearing out of thin air at the entrance to the Puddlemere United quidditch grounds. She straightened out her dress and strode up to the gate, showing the security guard her pass. He nodded at her and gave the once over, inflating her ego slightly.

That was when she saw him. He was flying around the goals as his other team members pelted the quaffles at him. He was yelling instructions furiously, his voice almost hoarse.

She felt a pang of guilt. Those poor quidditch players... it was probably her fault he was grumpy. And she might possibly be about to make it so much worse for them.

Maybe it was better this way. She should leave it where it was and they should never have anything to do with one another ever again. Was she just there, at the quidditch grounds on false hope that maybe she could prove that bloody cow she called her boss wrong? Or was there something there that was worth fighting for?

Gulping, Hermione turned on her heel and took a step back into the entrance, planning to go the way she came. Something stopped her, though. Something unknown to her made her turn around and go in a completely different direction; to the stands.

She climbed four flights of stairs, finding herself in the Friends and Family Box. This was where they had celebrated his adoption on to the team. Where they had come so many times on their anniversary because he was playing in a match and had refused to let someone substitute for him. She had spent their entire third, fourth and fifth anniversaries here. It depressed her.

Hermione also remembered when he won his first Puddlemere United match. He'd jumped from his broom to that very box and kissed her with so much passion that it had made her run out of breath. This memory made her smile.

But unfortunately, Hermione spent more time in this box, watching him, than she spent making love to him. She frowned. Their lives revolved around a sport. _His_ job. Quidditch was his passion. Not her. She was just the rock he came home to – most nights, anyway – that he could count on to be there when he needed her.

How did she know she could count on him?

She ran her hands along the railing and looked up to see him save a goal. But there was no look of triumph on his face like usual. He looked miserable. His shoulders were slumped and though he was alert, he looked bored. Or sad. It was hard to tell. But she hated seeing him like that.

And with that thought, Hermione realised that she loved Oliver Wood with all of her being. He was her first love. Her only love in her life – so far. Maybe Delia Vittan had been right and there was no hope left for them. Because people don't marry their first love.

She nodded to herself and was about to turn when he called out to her. "Hey! You! What are you doing in – Hermione?" He was hovering next to the box as she nodded her head. "What are you doing here?" He asked softly. "And what are you wearing?"

"Oliver –" She began, but cut herself off. "We need to talk."

He nodded silently, scrutinising her with his honest brown eyes. "Yes, we do. But it'll have to wait. I've got some more training to do." And there it was. Her answer. He flew off back toward the goals and Hermione felt anger rising in her. She was _not_ going to be treated like that.

Tears came to surface. "Is that all I am to you?!" She yelled at his back. He stopped mid air and turned again to face her. "Just someone you can forsake for your beloved quidditch?!" She spat. "Always second to a _sport_. No, wait. _Third_ to all your dear _fans_!"

Oliver was furious. "What did you just say?" He asked dangerously.

"You heard me!" She cried angrily, ignoring the tears that were threatening to unleash. She would not cry in front of him. "You heard exactly what I said, Oliver Wood."

He turned to his teammates. "Break." They flew off the field gratefully and he swiftly landed in the audience box. "Hermione, what are you talking about? This morning, you said it was over. _You_ said it. Not me. _You_. So forgive me if I'm not exactly in the mood to speak to you." His tone was bitter and she resisted the urge to flinch.

Hermione clenched her fists. "Have you thought about _why_, Oliver?" She asked angrily. "I'll tell you why. I am so bloody sick of the rubbish you pull with me. I am so sick of coming second to a _sport_!" The tears just wouldn't go away. "My heart is breaking every time you choose quidditch over me."

"You have always come first!" He roared. "I have worked so hard to buy you nice things, allow you to live comfortably, and I have made sure that every girl knows I'm in a relationship with you! What the bloody oath more could you want?!" He shouted, his eyes burning into hers.

"I want to be LOVED!" She screamed back, the tears finally falling. "You buy me nice things, for what? To keep me happy? Well, Oliver, I'm telling you now, I'm not happy. How can I live comfortably when you're not there?! Huh? You tell me, how am I supposed to accept a comfortable lifestyle and beautiful gifts when they're just there to stop me from complaining?!" She collapsed on the nearest chair, sobbing into her hands as Oliver gaped.

He had never seen Hermione like this before. Sobs wracked her body, her hands covering her face and her shoulders slumped as she cried. He took a step forward, and she glared at him, looking up from her hands.

"How do I know that you're not off gallivanting with some beautiful girl every single one of those nights when you're 'just out'? How can I be sure that one day, I'm going to be important enough that you'll have no need to announce your relationship status, because it'll be clearly stated on your finger with a wedding band?" Her voice had grown quieter as she looked up at him, her make up running everywhere.

"Is that what this is all about?!" He asked, exasperated. "You're just pissed because I haven't proposed yet?!" It was outrageous.

She stood angrily. "NO! It's not just about that! I. Feel. NEGLECTED. Oliver, I feel neglected!" She shouted. "I feel like I'm losing you. No, I _have_ lost you. You don't love me anymore, because I'm not attractive enough to you. Not fun enough!" She exclaimed, her arms flying wildly around in exaggeration. She stopped suddenly, watching him, chest heaving, as he stared at her, not knowing what to say. "This was a mistake. Clearly." She said coldly, wiping at her tears.

Oliver watched as she spun on her heel, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "Hermione, wait." He said quietly.

She stopped before the doorway. "What is it? What more could you say?"

He walked up to her and spun her around to face him, taking in her pained expression. "Hermione..." He said, wiping at her running make up with his thumb. "I'm sorry. I don't want to lose you."

"It's a little too late for that, Oliver." It was almost inaudible, but she said it and pulled away from his grasp, though she wished immediately to return to it.

"Stop." He turned her around again and held her firmly in place by the hands. "You can't go. You can't leave me, Hermione." His eyes weren't angry this time. They were full of sadness and regret. And Hermione hated that she was the cause of it. "I didn't know you felt that way." She said nothing, and he almost lost his confidence. "I'm sorry that you feel neglected. And that you come second to quidditch. But sometimes, I get so caught up in my sport that I need to be pulled back off my high broomstick. I just want you to know that you mean everything to me. Everything about you is beautiful, and I can't see myself without you..."

She sighed. "Stop, Oliver. Just – stop." She said quietly. "I can't be pushed to the side like that. I won't take it anymore. I don't want to lose you. Not ever, because you are a part of me. And I know that losing you is going to be painful, but if we keep going the way we're going, then I'm not going to survive." She said thickly, emotions welling within her.

"You're not losing me, Hermione."

"No, I don't think I ever had you." She said softly, staring up at him sadly.

His heart clenched. "Mia," He said huskily. "You've always had my heart. It's been yours since Hogwarts. I need you to keep it safe for me. Please." He begged with his eyes. "Don't leave. I love you. I always will. Nothing will ever make me stop." He said this so honestly, Hermione wanted to melt into his arms and apologise profusely.

She cleared her throat. "Prove it, then. Prove to me how much you love me. Prove that I don't come second in your life." _And prove to me that Vittan was wrong_, she wanted to add, but kept it quite.

Oliver looked around; watching as his team mates meandered around, waiting for their captain to resume the practise. He shook his head, attempting to clear it. "Alright." He muttered. "Stay here." He said firmly. Hermione nodded and he mounted his broomstick, flying down to his team mates. "Sorry guys, I'm done. I'm done for today. Actually, I'm probably done for the week. Or the month. Or maybe even the season." He added as an afterthought. They stared at him open mouthed. Oliver Wood was blowing off Quidditch? Since when? "I've got someone I need to marry." He told them quietly. They all grinned at him, offering him pats on the back and words of encouragement.

He flew back up to the stand and dismounted, coming to stand in front of Hermione. He took her hand. "I love you. More than anything. Including quidditch." He said, looking down into her eyes. "I've told them that I'm out for the season."

A season? That's it? That wasn't enough.

"And I've also told them I might be quite some time planning my wedding." She almost didn't hear that part. She did a double-take as he got down on one knee. "I don't have a ring at all, I'll be honest, but you've made me realise today, Hermione, that there's no use in living without you. You're my everything, and I want you to become so much more... Will you marry me?" He waited with baited breath as she looked at him in shock.

She blinked, the tears coming again. "Oliver, I – well... I don't know what to say... I mean..."

He frowned slightly. "A simple yes or no would do."

"How do I know you won't break my heart? How do I know you'll keep it safe?" She croaked, clearly at war with her emotions.

"I'll keep it as safe as I do my goal posts." What that mean in Oliver–speak was that he couldn't promise anything, but he'd sure as hell try. "Now, Hermione Granger, will you marry me?" His knee was going numb as she thought.

"I – YES!" She squealed, pulling him up from the ground. "Of course I'll marry you, Oliver!" She kissed him passionately, her hands tangling in his messy hair. His arms went around her waist and he pulled her closer, smiling into the kiss.

By the time they came up for air, Hermione was grinning. "I love you, Oliver." She said, leaning her forehead on his shoulder.

He brought her face up by the chin and kissed her swiftly on the lips. "I love you, too, Mia." He smiled. "Now, shall we go home and get you out of that... er, costume?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and she laughed.

"We shall, Mr. Wood." She smiled.

"Right, Mrs. Wood." She made a face and he laughed. "C'mon, then, beautiful, let's go." He swung an arm around her shoulder, carrying his broomstick with his free hand as they headed for the exit, making sure to dump the broomstick where it belonged – the broom cupboard.

____----____

_Dear Ginny,_

_Thank you, so, so, SO much! You've helped me so much and you'll be happy to hear that Oliver and I have sorted things out. But what you won't be happy to hear is that you won't be making it to the wedding. We've eloped, Gin._

_Please, don't worry about us; we're fine. We're getting married on a boat somewhere in France – probably the first one that we can find... Please don't be upset, I'll fill you in when we get back. But don't expect us any time soon, okay?_

_I love you, Ginny. Say hi to Harry, Ron and the rest for me, because I know I'll miss all of you. I promise to bring back souvenirs. Maybe._

_À bientôt,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. I guess you really can marry your first love. I proved that 'foul, ghastly beast of a woman' wrong, eh?_

_Hugs and kisses._

Ginny smiled and put the letter down on the table. "Oh, Hermione, how right you are," the redhead mused. "You are in BIG trouble when you come back!" And with that, she summoned her howlers.


End file.
